


Please Remember Me, As Vivid As I Was

by bouquetofwhoopsiedaisies



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Afterlife, All of the hurt is referenced not shown. All of the comfort is shown and the focus, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dark yet fluffy... like a little black bunny, Dysphoria, Ghosts, Hurt/Comfort, Japanese Mythology & Folklore, Knives, Kuchisake-onna, Look Keith is a vengeful spirit type ghost... he had to get that way somehow, M/M, Past Character Death, Past Sexual Abuse, Peace, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Sad with a Happy Ending, Scars, Shinto, Shiro could never be a ghost hunter... apparently his solution is to make out with the sad ghost, Trans Male Character, Youkai, do with that as you will, implied major character death, it sounds dark but it's actually really sweet, that being said the bad stuff is only referenced in one paragraph, the Moon!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-22
Updated: 2018-08-22
Packaged: 2019-07-01 01:19:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15763668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bouquetofwhoopsiedaisies/pseuds/bouquetofwhoopsiedaisies
Summary: “Am I pretty?”  The guy asked again.Maybe the guy was just flirting with him?  Shiro’s gaze caught on his eyes, so captivating and expressive… He nodded.  “Yeah.  You are.”  He answered honestly.Something about the smile in his eyes changed, becoming more sinister.  The man reached up and unhooked one of the loops of his surgical mask from around his ear.  “How about now?”  He asked, pulling the mask away.Sudden cold doused Shiro like ice-water flooding his veins.  The man’s mouth was slit to either side of his lips, scars stretching up his cheeks and practically to his ears.  It was a shock, yes, but what really made his heart stutter with fear was remembering his earlier question;am I pretty?His grandparents had told him stories as a child about yōkai and yūrei -- Japanese demons and ghosts -- and though he hadn’t thought about those stories in a long time, they suddenly came back to him.There was a kuchisake-onna standing in front of him, and had just asked him the dreaded question.  Shiro knew the stories -- saying no would get him killed, but saying yes would earn him a matching scar.  There was no good answer.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lunarium](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lunarium/gifts).



> The lovely [Lórien](https://lunarymagic.tumblr.com/) ended up not being able to do the Monstertron Gift Exchange, but after seeing their prompts, the Sheith kuchisake-onna one dug into my brain too much for me to discard it. Hope you're doing okay now, Lórien, and I hope you enjoy this bonus treat!
> 
> (The title is a line from the song "Unravel" from Tokyo Ghoul, specifically the lovely slow piano-and-the-actual-singer version that was featured at some point in the anime... the ending, I think? Or perhaps at some point in RE:?? It's been years since I watched it. The part where H ~~spoilers?~~ is dead and Kaneki carries the body off through the snow, or something like that. I scoured YouTube in search of a link because it was really pretty! And the mood of it fits this story better than the opening ~~screaming~~ version. But all I could find were covers/English versions/nightcore/tutorials on playing it on the piano, which is... not what I wanted. If anyone knows of it, let me know; the only thing I can point to right now is the one on my ipod that I ripped off a clip from the anime like three and a half years ago)

Shiro took a deep breath of cool, fresh air as he stepped off the train.  Tokyo was a fun place to visit, and he had really enjoyed meeting up with some old friends from his days studying abroad, but it was undeniably nice to get out of the big city and back to his grandparents’ quiet neighborhood in Ibaraki prefecture.  It was late, late enough that few people had been on the train with him, and late enough that Shiro had his group text of friends back in the States to keep him company on the long train ride back. He was a little off-kilter with their conversation since coming to Japan, as his nights and days were almost completely reversed and he was usually asleep while they chatted away thousands of miles away in the hot, dry desert surrounding their university, so different than the lush green mountains where he was.  Shiro glanced at his phone once more as he headed towards the automatic ticket turnstile, smiling fondly at the device.

_Form Voltron! Group Chat: 23:42 PM_

_Shiro: [image attachment]_

_Hunk: No way!  You had those Japanese glass noodles?!  I’ve always wanted to try those! How were they?_

_Shiro: they’re called ‘harusame’ and they just tasted like noodles.  Pretty good though_

_Hunk: Shhh Shiro let me vicariously try cool food through you_

_Pidge: they do just look like noodles.  Neat color tho. Sounds like you’re having fun_

_Allura: I think that dish looks delicious! Shiro, you should post that on Instagram_

_Shiro: I don’t have an Instagram… ^.^;_

_Allura: Pidge and I will set one up for you_

_Pidge: Yessss…_

_Shiro: Why am I suddenly afraid?_

_Lance: You should be, lmao.  So how’s Japan? Have you climbed Mount Fuji yet?_

_Shiro: I’d like to, but that’s not anywhere near where I am_

_Coran: Looks like you’re eating well!  We all miss you back home!_

_Shiro: Miss you guys too.  My train stop is coming up, so I’ll talk to you later.  Have a nice day, everyone_

Following that, Shiro saw there was a string of messages wishing him a good night.  He smiled and slipped the phone back into his pocket as he left the train station. There were no taxis or buses lined up outside the station at this hour, no one out walking this late.  Just Shiro, the warm summer night air, and the moonlight bathing the world in a pale glow and casting shadows across the sidewalk. That was another thing Shiro liked about where his grandparents lived; in Tokyo, the lights of the city completely drowned out the stars and hid the moon behind an orange haze.  He liked being able to see them as he walked through the dark, empty streets, narrow as they were but much wider than the cramped alleyways twisting between Tokyo high-rises. It was peaceful here. He especially liked walking past the large shrine at night; the huge, expansive grounds were mostly made up of forests and small, winding paths from shrine to shrine.  If he was lucky, maybe he would spot some of the stray cats that called the grounds home, coming out to hunt at night.

A yellow glow washed over him as a single car trundled past with a soft hush of wheels on pavement, but other than that, Shiro was alone.  Most of the surrounding houses were dark, save for a few lights on in bedrooms or the flicker of a television screen in a living room. And to his right was the dark forest of the shrine grounds, quiet except for the rustle of leaves in the warm summer breeze.  

“Hey,”

The voice startled Shiro out of his thoughts and he noticed a man across the narrow street from him.  The bottom half of his face was covered by a white surgical mask, but Shiro didn’t think anything of it; that wasn’t an uncommon sight here in Japan.  Rather, Shiro was struck by the beautiful shape of his eyes that seemed to almost glow a faint shade of purple in the moonlight, peeking out from between the long bangs of his dark, shoulder-length hair.  He was wearing a red zip-up hoodie over a black t-shirt, dark jeans, and boots.

The man lifted his hand and beckoned Shiro closer.  Shiro glanced around before crossing the street. “Hey.  Are you looking for directions or something?”

The guy tilted his head slightly, and even with the mask over his mouth, Shiro could see the smile in his eyes.  “Am I pretty?”

Shiro blinked, taken aback by the question.  Maybe the guy was drunk, and seeking reassurance about his looks from a stranger?  But he didn’t _seem_ drunk… “You... what?”

“Am I pretty?”  The guy repeated.  

Shiro couldn’t smell any alcohol on him, so the drunk theory was getting shaky.  Maybe the guy was just flirting with him?  Shiro’s gaze caught on his eyes, so captivating and expressive… He nodded.  “Yeah. You are.” He answered honestly.

Something about the smile in his eyes changed, becoming more sinister.  The man reached up and unhooked one of the loops of his mask from around his ear.  “How about now?” He asked, pulling the mask away.

Sudden cold doused Shiro like ice-water flooding his veins.  The man’s mouth was slit to either side of his lips, scars stretching up his cheeks and practically to his ears.  It was a shock, yes, but what really made his heart stutter with fear was remembering his earlier question; _am I pretty?_  His grandparents had told him stories as a child about _yōkai_ and _yūrei_ \-- Japanese demons and ghosts -- and though he hadn’t thought about those stories in a long time, they suddenly came back to him.

There was a kuchisake-onna standing in front of him, and had just asked him the dreaded question.  Shiro knew the stories -- saying no would get him killed, but saying yes would earn him a matching scar.  There was no good answer.

The man tipped his chin down, eyes hardening.  “I’m getting impatient.” He backed Shiro up against someone’s garden wall, the stone pressing hard and cold against his back as the man pulled a knife out from behind his back.  There was a glowing purple insignia set against the hilt, but Shiro didn’t have much time to look at it before the naked blade was pressed to his cheek. “I asked you a question.”  The man’s voice was low and hard, his mutilated mouth forming each syllable carefully. “Am. I. Pretty.”

Shiro held his breath, heart pounding.  The man’s expression twisted in anger and he slashed the knife across the bridge of Shiro’s face.

“Answer me!”  The man shouted, even as Shiro staggered back and clutched his face with a hiss.  

Shiro looked up over his fingers, pressing down on the shallow wound.  It was bleeding and would likely scar, and it stung and burned like hell, but it didn’t seem too deep.  The man was still in front of him, crimson blood staining his blade in the pale moonlight. He was still waiting for an answer.  Shiro faltered, thinking over what had been said to him. The man was speaking in a way that was distinctly masculine, though Shiro hadn’t noticed it until he used the pronoun “ _ore_ ” and a few generally-masculine verb endings.  Furthermore, he had never heard of a kuchisake- _otoko_ , it was always an _onna_.  

Shiro looked into his eyes, blazing with barely-contained fire, and decided that he had to tell him the truth, even if it got him killed.  “You’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.”

The man froze, blinking in confusion.  “...What?”  His voice came out soft as a whisper, as if he was too stunned to actually speak.

“You are.”  Shiro repeated.  “And saying it is probably going to get me cut, but I can’t just lie and say your looks are average.”  That was how the urban legends said to get away from the kuchisake-onna. “You’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.”  

The man stared at him for a few moments before stumbling back and releasing his hold on Shiro.  “You… no one has ever… you’re the first person to call me a man.”

Shiro risked looking up and down him.  “Aren’t you?” Oh damn, he was _really_ screwed if he was wrong.  If kuchisake-onna didn’t take well to being called not pretty, he couldn’t imagine the reaction to calling them the wrong gender.

“I am.  But… I wasn’t.  And most people don’t…  They just assume, because…” he gestured to the scars stretching from his mouth.  “Even when I was alive, everyone always told me I was a girl, that I had to be a girl, even though I knew that was wrong.  Even my boyfriend… he was always calling me pretty. He always got jealous when other people complimented me, too. Some guy hit cornered me at a bar one night, and I was scared so I didn’t…” He trailed off, biting his lip and looking away.  He took a deep breath and went on. “But when my boyfriend found out, he shouted that it was my fault and that if I didn’t have my looks, it wouldn’t have happened. So he took them away, by cutting my face. Then he left me to bleed out -- to _die_ \-- alone.”  He looked down at the knife in his hand, pale fingers curling around the hilt.  When he next spoke, his voice was dark and cold. “He was terrified when I came back.  Good. He should have been scared for much, much longer, but I couldn’t resist cutting his face like he did mine and killing him.  He made me like this, so I made him my first victim.” He looked up, and Shiro saw pain and sadness and anger swirling in the depths of his eyes and sorrow in the curve of his brows.  “Even after avenging my death, I still can’t move on. It doesn’t matter how many people I kill, not a single one of them has seen me for who I really am. Until you.”

Shiro didn’t know what to say.  The man’s story tugged at his heart; how horrible to be forced to walk the Earth after something so traumatic… And to be constantly called the very thing you wish to change about yourself, as if to add insult to injury.  

“What’s your name?”  Shiro asked him.

The man gave him a sidelong look before answering.  “Keith.” Shiro must have looked surprised, because he went on.  “I’m half.”

Mixed race, then.  That explained the name.  “I am too, actually.” Shiro smiled gently.  He himself had grown up in the States, where he had been bullied for his looks.  But even when he visited his dad’s family in Japan, other kids still someimes teased him for not looking “Japanese enough” and calling him “half”.  He knew it wasn’t easy for mixed-race children in Japan.

As if thinking the same thing, some of the tension left Keith’s furrowed brow at his words.  “What’s your name?” He asked.

“Shiro.”  He didn’t stop to think whether it was smart to tell a spirit his name.  Probably not, but it was done. At least it was just his nickname.

“Shiro.”  Keith smiled softly.  He looked up and down the street uncertainly, his smile faltering.  “Well, I don’t want to kill you, since you saw me for who I am. I guess… you can just go home.  And no, I won’t follow you home and kill you like the stories say.”

“Thanks.”  Shiro couldn’t deny the relief sweeping over him at the words.  “What are you going to do?”

Keith shrugged.  “Same thing I’ve been doing for decades.  Just… hang around.” His shoulders drooped, and Shiro felt sorry for him.  It was obvious he wanted to move on.

“Is there anything I can do to help?”  Shiro asked, brows pulling together. There had to be something.  There were stories that the most violent of _onryō_ could never be appeased and would haunt the Earth for eternity, wreaking havoc to try and compensate for their own anguish… but while Keith had clearly suffered, it was obvious he didn’t want to be here.  He wanted to move on and find peace.

Keith sighed.  “No, there isn’t.”  He paused, seeming to consider something, then shook his head.  “...No. There isn’t.” He repeated.

Shiro studied him carefully.  “What is it?”

Keith glanced at him hesitantly.  “It’s not… I don’t think it’ll help me move on, or anything.”  He looked down at the sidewalk, balling his hands up and shoving them in his hoodie pockets.  “I’m just… I’m always cold. I’d give anything to feel warm again.”

“I could kiss you.”  The words were out of his mouth before Shiro could stop to think about them.  But he didn’t regret them.

Keith barked out a sharp, dry laugh.  “Right. Like you would.” He scoffed.  

“I would.”  Shiro told him.  “If you’d let me.”  

Keith stopped laughing and stared at him, his mutilated mouth falling open in shock.  “Even though… I look like this?”

“You look handsome to me.”  Shiro said, his voice quiet and ernest.  Not even the scars stretching his mouth in a Glasgow grin could mar the smooth skin of his face, the glow and depth of his eyes, and the luscious way his hair shone in the moonlight.  He was beautiful, and it was neither in spite of or because of the scars; he simply was.

Keith watched him for a few moments, his eyes seeming to search Shiro’s face for something.  Whatever it was, he seemed to find it, as he stepped closer and delicately placed his palms on the stone wall behind Shiro, caging him in with his arms.  He leaned closer, close enough that Shiro could feel his cold breath puffing over his lips. He smelled faintly of sandalwood, invoking a strange mix of memories of funerals and New Years visits to the shrine and the incense Shiro’s mother burned in their kitchen.  

“Last chance to run away.”  Keith warned in a whisper.

Shiro just lifted a hand to cup his cool cheek, thumb stroking over the lumpy line of the scar, and leaned in to press his lips to Keith’s.  Keith melted at the contact; first the tension seeped out of his body like water run-off, then he stepped closer and pressed himself up against Shiro with a sigh.  He was cold, so cold, and Shiro shivered but wrapped his arms around him as he kissed him again, eager to warm him up.

The yellow glow of a passing car’s headlights made them jump apart, hearts racing.  As the little kei-truck passed and disappeared down the road, Shiro noticed that only his own shadow stretched and elongated with the light; Keith didn’t even seem to have a shadow.  

Keith looked up at him, brow knitted and chest rising and falling with heavy breaths.  “We shouldn’t have done that in the open.”

Shiro nodded reluctantly; it was late, but the darkness wasn’t fail-safe.  Someone could easily look out their window and see them, and he didn’t think most people would take well to finding two men making out outside their house at midnight.  Furthermore, given the lack of shadow, he wasn’t sure anyone else could see Keith; someone would _definitely_ call the cops if they noticed a strange man making out with what appeared to be thin air outside their house.  

His eyes settled on the tree-covered embankment behind them.  “What if we went somewhere more private?” He suggested.

Keith followed his gaze, then the scarred corner of his mouth twitched up in a ghost of a grin.  “You want to make out in the woods? That’ll make me feel alive again.”

Shiro chuckled and took his hand, leading him across the road.  They left the dim glow of the streetlamps behind and found themselves walking along a narrow, paved path that led deeper into the shrine grounds, with little stone paths shooting off that led to the miniature wooden shrines for smaller deities.  They passed a sign indicating that the reflecting pool was a little ways away, but it wasn’t until Shiro spotted the stone _torii_ gate standing in the center of the small square pool that he realized something.  “Wait, can you enter shrine grounds?” He asked Keith.

Keith blinked impassively, made a show of looking around them and down at the ground under his feet, and then looked back up at Shiro.  “Yeah, pretty sure, considering I’m still here.” His lips curved up in a smile that lined up with his scars, his eyes sparkling with mirth.  

“But you’re not gonna disappear, if you enter a shrine or temple or something?”  Shiro checked. He wasn’t particularly well-versed on the supernatural, after all.  

Keith hummed thoughtfully.  “Temples are harder than shrines; something always pushes me out whenever I wander too close to a temple.  But the line between _kami_ and _yōkai_ is more easily blurred, and nature is more forgiving to creatures that aren’t pure good.  I might get smited if I sat in the actual _honden_ , the enshrinement hall, but I’m pretty sure you would be too if you tried.”

So he was a smart-ass, then.  Shiro chuckled and led him over to a copse of cedar trees that wasn’t surrounded by a sacred hemp rope and criss-crossing paper streamers; he didn’t think it would be prudent to make out with a ghost up against a tree or rock where a god dwelled, even a minor folk god.  But there were a lot of other trees, and Keith leaned back against the wide trunk of the cedar and pulled Shiro closer to him, capturing his lips again. With the soft moonlight filtering in through the tree branches and illuminating his pale skin, Keith looked ethereal.  His scars stood out in the dim light, the raised, ropey tissue throwing shadows across his otherwise-perfect skin, but he was still beautiful in Shiro’s eyes. He cupped Keith’s cheek with one hand, stroking the scar there lovingly with his thumb, and moved his lips over to kiss the other one.  Keith froze as he did so, then took a deep, shuddering breath and pulled Shiro closer, resting his forehead against Shiro’s shoulder and letting his eyes fall closed.

“This is the most alive I’ve felt in decades.”  Keith whispered as Shiro pressed another kiss to his scar before sliding his lips back to under his ear.  “I didn’t even know I was craving this.” He slid his hands around the back of Shiro’s neck, nails lightly scratching the short, buzzed hairs at his nape.  Shiro held him tight and buried his nose in Keith’s soft hair.

He wasn't sure how long they stayed there, kissing under the cover of darkness.  Time didn't matter as much as the feeling of Keith's lips moving against Shiro's, or the glow of his skin in the patches of moonlight filtering through the tree branches, or the way Keith's skin gradually shifted from icy-cold to an almost-warm sort of coolness under Shiro's hands.  The curiosity and fervor of their kiss calmed, assuaged with every touch, and gradually became languid and savoring, like they had nowhere else they would ever again need to be.  Eventually, though, Keith eased back from the kiss.   

“I can’t keep this form much longer.”  Keith sighed, and Shiro pulled back enough to look at him.  He noticed that he looked… tired. Drained. Still satisfied, but something like exhaustion weighing heavily on him.  His eyes were soft as he gazed at Shiro. “Thank you, Shiro. For everything.”

Shiro offered him a smile and squeezed his hand.  “Anytime, Keith. Really.”

Keith smiled in return, lips lining up with his scars, and leaned over to press one last kiss to Shiro’s mouth as he cupped his cheek.  When he pulled back, he seemed to shimmer for a moment, then he faded and disappeared before Shiro’s very eyes. Shiro shivered as an unusually chilly breeze swept through the forest, smelling faintly of sandalwood.  He wondered if it was just from the nearby shrines, or if it was Keith. Something told him it was the latter.

Shiro let out a weighty sigh as stepped away from the cedar tree.  He looked around the moonlight-dappled clearing, the forest dotted with weathered _torii_ gates and small, miniature shrines.  Keith was nowhere to be seen, but somehow, Shiro got the sense that he was still there, just fainter.  

He brushed the dirt off his jeans and headed back down the path towards town, pausing as he noticed a little hut where _ema_ , the wooden prayer placards, were laid out on a table beside a locked money box with a hole cut in the top.  Such trust in the honor-system was common at smaller shrines outside the big cities, he knew. Shiro fished out a couple hundred yen from his wallet and dropped them in the box with a metallic _clank_ , then picked up a placard and one of the felt-tipped pens left next to the money box.  He wrote on it as neatly as possible, then capped the pen and placed it back where he had gotten it from.  Picking up the placard, Shiro went to the _ema_ -laden wooden rack where dozens of placards were hung up, each bearing a wish from the person who had left them.  He hung his own up on one of the pegs and let his fingers linger over the words inked into the wood: _please let Keith find peace.  He is a wonderful, beautiful man who deserves a peaceful afterlife_.

With that, Shiro headed back down the path to town and left the empty shrine grounds behind.  

~~~~~

“How did this happen again?”  His grandmother asked suspiciously, dabbing a cotton ball soaked with disinfectant on the wound along his nose.  Shiro winced, his eyes smarting at the sharp sting.

“I got attacked by a crow on the way home from the station last night.”  Shiro said.

“It is nesting season…” His grandmother sighed heavily.  “You know Tamura-san down the street? She got scratched on the head when she rode her bike past one of their nests just last week!  They’re getting awfully bold.”

Shiro hummed noncommittally, just glad she had bought it.  

“I’ve heard you can ward them off by doing the _banzai_ pose.”  His grandfather said, lifting his arms above his head to demonstrate and even calling out “ _Banzai!_ ” in his cigarette-gravelly voice.  

“Does that scare the crows?”  Shiro asked curiously.

“Nah, just makes them attack your hands,” his grandfather grunted.  “But better that than your face!”

“Tamura-san was on her bike, she couldn’t do that.”  His grandmother huffed as she closed up the first aid kit.  

“I meant for _Takashi_.”  His grandfather told her.  “Though you could probably stick one hand up and wave it around as you ride past on your bike.”  He demonstrated, one hand gripping a set of imaginary handlebars and the other waving frantically above his head, and his wife burst out laughing.

“You look like a lunatic, dear.”  She patted his shoulder and shook her head fondly.

~~~~~

Over the course of the next few days, Shiro found himself taking walks late at night along that same stretch of road where he had first seen Keith, hoping to spot him again.  He was disappointed that he didn’t, but he realized that surely the ghost had other things to do than wait around for him. What that might be, he didn’t know. He asked his grandmother what sorts of things vengeful spirits did in their spare time, and the old woman gave him a bewildered look and said they simply appeared to wreak havoc and vengeance and lay curses, and he shouldn’t talk about _onryō_ so frankly, Takashi, for goodness sake…  So Shiro let the matter drop, and tried to enjoy the rest of his visit, all the while slipping out at night to try and come across Keith again, though his efforts were in vain.  He prowled the whole neighborhood under the guise of "just getting some air", but never saw any sign of Keith. The closest thing he saw to a _yōkai_ was an actual tanuki rooting through the garbage one night, and all that creature did was hiss at him and run away.  

On the last day of his trip, his mother texted him to ask him to bring back some of those lovely green-tea sweets from that shop nearby that his father liked, as a souvenir.  The shop in question was on the opposite side of the large shrine grounds from his grandparents’ neighborhood, and Shiro decided to shave some time off his journey by cutting through the grounds.  Plus, he just loved the atmosphere; all the brightly-colored shrines painted in reds, oranges, and greens, the weathered stone lanterns lining the paths, the cheerful calls of the shopkeepers whose stalls lined the paths selling _karaage_ fried chicken, savory _yakisoba_ , shiny red candied apples, and _omamori_ charms to protect everything from road safety to success in exams to a safe childbirth, all of them with golden thread stitched onto the silk squares… and then there were the quieter parts of the grounds, such as the little stone paths that wound through the forest, leading to miniature _hokora_ shrines for folk deities, the moss-covered boulders and _jizō_  statues with their faded red bibs standing guard over little bubbling brooks… The grounds had a completely different feeling to them than the night he had come here with Keith, all bright and colorful and full of tourists and locals alike coming to pray and take photos in the warm sunlight.  Like two sides of the same coin, neither was better than the other. Darkness and light, quiet and noise, calm and frenzy… they were all just a part of life, and a part of each other. Still, he would always treasure that rare, surreal night on these very shrine grounds. It was a memory he would never forget.  

Shiro paused at a fork in the road with a sign pointing toward the reflecting pool.  That was near the specific part of the grounds he had been to with Keith, and something was calling him to go back there.  He figured he could put off souvenir-shopping a bit longer and blame it on sightseeing if anyone asked (he _was_ at a pretty popular tourist destination, after all, even if it was practically in his grandparents’ backyard).  It took him a little while to locate the specific clearing where he and Keith had been that night, having to navigate dozens of little trails and weave through people eager to see the reflecting pond.  It was pretty, with a wooden _torii_ gate in the center of the rectangular pool and the great bough of a tree growing so close over the water that it nearly rested on top of the gate, but Shiro only paused to admire it before continuing on.  He continued down the path until he found the clearing -- really, he couldn’t help but think of it as _their_ clearing -- and spotted the small copse of cedar trees where he had kissed Keith enough to make him feel alive one last time.  There was a little old couple sitting on the ground under the trees, now, eating _onigiri_ together and talking quietly in that honey-thick dialect that made Shiro think of his own grandparents.  As he watched, the man passed a thermos of tea to his wife, who smiled and patted his knee in thanks as she accepted it.  

Shiro decided not to disturb them, and instead wandered over to the rack of _ema_ nearby.  There was a father holding his child on his hip and helping her write on the placard, a hand on hers to steady the shaky _hiragana_ as she wrote her wish.  A tired-looking student in a pleated navy skirt and _seifuku_ -style uniform top hung up a placard, bowed slightly and murmured something about passing the entrance exams, and backed away.  Shiro waited until she had disappeared around the corner before lifting her placard and the one underneath that one in search of his own, wondering if the priests and priestesses had burned them yet.  Evidently not, as he found his placard further back on the peg.  Shiro frowned, tilting his head as he pulled the placard more into the light to look at the corner.  Underneath his message, there was a series of scratches. It looked like someone had carved words into the wood with the point of a knife.  It was difficult to make out, but if he looked hard, it appeared to say: _thank you._

Shiro let his thumb stroke over the scratches.  That wasn’t the standard way to let people know their prayer had been heard; usually the _ema_ just sat on the rack for the _kami_ to find, until the priests and priestesses burned the tablets to free the wishes from the mortal realm.  Answers weren’t left on placards. This had been done deliberately, and not by a deity.  Even if a priest had taken the unconventional route and left an answer, they would have used a pen rather than carving it with a knife.  Shiro had a strong feeling that the words were from Keith, etched with the very knife he was doomed to carry for eternity.

Shiro let the placard fall against the others with a wooden _clack_ and looked around the clearing.  He couldn’t sense Keith’s presence here, just like he hadn’t been able to sense his presence on the street where they had met.  He wondered if that was because Keith was no longer here on Earth. Had he finally been able to move on, now that someone had recognized him and loved him for how he truly was?  Shiro hoped so. He wanted peace for Keith’s spirit, after so long in torment.

Shiro stepped back from the rack and offered a smile to the little girl and her father who had come to hang up their own _ema_ on top of his.  Maybe it was a good thing he hadn’t seen him around since that night, he realized as he headed back up the path.  He hoped that wherever Keith was, he was finally happy and at peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even though it’s not really important because the story is written in English, I thought a lot about what word Shiro would use to describe Keith and how their conversation would go in Japanese (and then built the English dialogue off of that. Because... I try too hard and I'm a nerd). There’s not really a solid, frequently-used word for “handsome” in Japanese that conveys the same image as the word in English, imo. People usually use かっこいい “kakkoii” (“cool, good-looking) or イケメン “ikemen” (good-looking, attractive… or it sometimes gets translated as “twink” lmao) to describe handsome guys, but neither of those felt right in this particular situation. So I decided Shiro goes with 美男 “bidan” (beautiful man), which is not something you’d hear a lot in typical conversation, but let’s just say Shiro is rather startled and because of that he speaks more frankly. Traditionally, the kuchisake-onna asks “(w)atshi, kirei?”, but in this, Keith omits the pronoun, as is common in Japanese, so Shiro doesn’t pick up on his use of “ore” until he tells him he’s getting impatient). But because just “pretty?” would sound weird in English, I wrote the implied “I’m” that would just be inferred in Japanese.
> 
> ON THAT NOTE: There's a lot of Japanese terms/concepts in this... I did my best to explain them in the surrounding text or with context, but would a glossary included as a second "chapter" be helpful/appreciated? Or just annoying and irrelevant? Honestly I've been immersed in this stuff for so long that I'm not sure what is common public knowledge and what isn't. (EDIT: I went ahead and did it)


	2. Lexicon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The person this was intended for said in their gifter letter they didn’t mind an accompanying lexicon, and seeing as how the setting/theme involves a lot of Japanese words I thought I’d go ahead and include it, though I tried to explain the terms in the writing itself. I’m by no means an “expert” on Japanese culture/yōkai/yūrei/Shintoism, but I’ve spent a considerable time studying them in university and beyond and I’ve learned a lot from living where I do.

(In order of appearance)

“Ibaraki prefecture” (茨城県): Located in Kantō region, sort of between Tokyo and Tōhoku area.  The specific shrine I was picturing was Kashima-jingu, as the shrine name is associated with what some believe the real name of the original kuchisake-onna to be* (*Note: I tried to confirm this with the internet but whatever site I saw it on disappeared, and the only other source I have is from some university notes that are currently an ocean away from me.  So… I don’t have a citation for that. My apologies)

“Harusame” (春雨): clear, starch-based noodles, sometimes called glass noodles.  The name means “spring rain”

“Yōkai” (妖怪): supernatural spirits, ghosts, and demons in Japanese folklore.  Some include yūrei (幽霊、ghosts) as part of the yōkai category or their own thing, it’s fairly nebulous and hard to pin down since it’s not scientific.

“Kuchisake-onna” (口裂け女):  “slit-mouth woman”, a type of vengeful spirit.  Read more [here](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kuchisake-onna). (I also mention “kuchisake-otoko” but that’s not a thing.  Onna （女）means woman and otoko　（男） means man, so it’s inferred from the name that kuchisake-otoko would just be a male version of the ghost, but there are no stories of it)

“Ore” (俺): Means “I”; A distinctly masculine way to refer to oneself (BUT! I have heard girls use it, just rarely).  Of the multiple ways to say “I”, it is considered the most masculine-coded (and fun fact: Keith uses it in the Japanese dub)

“Half” (ハーフ): “biracial”, usually refers to someone who is half-Japanese, half-non-Japanese.  Not really very polite language, though it is unfortunately rather common.

“Onryō” (怨霊): vengeful spirits, a subset of yūrei (幽霊 ghosts) that are the most violent/dangerous.  Kuchisake-onna fall under this category. Traditionally speaking, they cannot ever be appeased (“Fun” fact: that’s why many Japanese horror films, like “The Ring”, “The Grudge”, “Dark Water”, etc., don’t have nice happy endings where the ghost is permanently vanquished.  Because that’s not how traditional Japanese ghosts work.  _And when I mention those films, I mean the original Japanese ones, not the American remakes that change a bunch of shit, mow over cultural context, and tie up all the "loose ends" despite that not! being! the point! of the story!_ )

“Kei-truck” (軽トラック): the little white miniature trucks that like half the population of men over the age of 50 drive in rural areas (idk about in Kantō.  But Tōhoku? They’re _everywhere_ )

“Torii” (鳥居): the gates that mark the entrance to shrines/spiritual areas.  Usually they are wooden and painted red or orange, but ones made of stone or even metal aren’t uncommon either (fun fact: the gods walk through the center so you should walk through the sides of them!)

“Kami” (神): frequently translated as simply “gods” but it’s considerably more complex than that… can include natural spirits along with major and folk deities.  A strangely-gnarled tree or a cool-shaped rock can even be a kami if people decide it’s got a natural spirit in it, and then priests put up the hemp rope and paper streamers around it.  ( _That’s also very abridged, I’m sorry… but the topic is literally complex enough to devote the majority of semester-long university course to it, so… condensed it is!)_  

“Honden” (本殿): the enshrinement hall part of the shrine, which is off-limits.

“Ema” (絵馬):  [wooden placards](https://www.google.com/search?q=%E7%B5%B5%E9%A6%AC&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwjVp8Wm0IDdAhVE7WEKHT5uCwcQ_AUICigB&biw=1280&bih=584) that prayers/wishes are written on and hung up at shrines for the kami to receive.  

“Tanuki” (狸、タヌキ): gets translated as “raccoon dog” a lot despite not being related to raccoons or dogs.  There’s a [yōkai version](http://yokai.com/tanuki/) and a [real-life version](https://media.mnn.com/assets/images/2016/01/tanukiinsnow.jpg.838x0_q80.jpg).  Trust neither.  

“Omamori” (お守り):  [Protection charms](https://www.google.com/search?q=%E3%81%8A%E5%AE%88%E3%82%8A&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwj3iLbf0YDdAhVGfd4KHc1UC-YQ_AUICigB&biw=1280&bih=584) sold at many shrines and temples.  You can buy them for a variety of purposes, usually indicated by the color.  (Fun fact! The protection comes from the prayer written inside the pouch. DO NOT OPEN THE POUCH or the protection won’t work)

“Hokora” (祠 or 神庫): Miniature shrines for minor deities that might not have their own major shrine, often found on roadsides, in neighborhoods, or on the grounds of larger shrines.

“Jizō” (地蔵): little [stone statues](http://blog-imgs-81.fc2.com/m/o/g/moguranosettin/IMGP8840_201509012326034bd.jpg) of the bodhisattva who is the guardian of children, especially children who died before their parents, and aborted, miscarried, or stillborn babies.  Also firefighters, oddly enough. Because of the association with children, people often give them little red bibs/red knit caps/pinwheels stuck in the ground next to them)

“Onigiri” (おにぎり): rice balls

“Hiragana” (ひらがな):  one of the easiest forms of writing Japanese, and the first that children learn in school.

“Seifuku” (制服):  The “sailor style” uniform that everyone knows from anime.


End file.
